Missing in Action
by Senomaros
Summary: A Spartan-IV is tasked with delivering a Forerunner artifact to the Inner Colonies, but due to a slipspace anomaly, he emerges in an entirely different universe. With no means of return, he must survive in a completely foreign world.
1. Chapter I

**I've always loved the Dragon Age and Halo games, particularly for the universes that the developers have created for them; they're so creative, detailed and well thought-out, and for me how much I enjoy a game is influenced by how well its universe and setting are designed. I'm also a fan of certain types of cross-over stories which, when done right, I find quite enjoyable. When my over-active imagination was added to the equation, the idea for this story was born. After reading many great stories on this site, it felt right that I should contribute and give something back, thus I decided to turn my idea into a story.**

**While this story is a cross-over between two of my favourite game franchises, it will not be the type where both worlds are simply smashed together, mixing a great deal of both universes into one pot. I quite dislike those stories as, in my opinion, they are far too chaotic and keep me irritated with countless unanswered questions and emergent flaws that remain not dealt with. Instead I plan for this cross-over to be of the variety where a single specific element from one universe is introduced to the other, or more specifically, a Spartan is sent into the Dragon Age universe, in the setting of the second game. I find these types of stories easier to deal with and they provide more opportunity for certain themes to be explored, I find.**

**But before I go any further, I'd like to bring a couple things to your attention. Firstly, not only is this my first published story, it is also my first attempt at any sort of creative writing beyond mandatory junior high English-class assignments; it would be much appreciated if you kept this in mind when forming expectations or submitting any reviews you might wish to make. Secondly, a tremendous thanks goes out to Diabo, for without his kind support and encouragement, this story most likely would have been nothing more than an interesting, but unrealized, idea.**

**Disclaimer: The Halo and Dragon Age series belong to Microsoft (specifically, 343 Industries now) and BioWare respectively. I own nothing except my original character.**

**Word-count: 3 139**

**Enjoy! **

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><p>Explosions rocked the ship and gunfire and battle-cries, some human but most not, could be heard as Spartan-039-2 crept through a dark and confined service tunnel, slowly making his way towards the frigate's hangar. Just before the service tunnel opened up onto a main corridor, the Spartan IV came to a halt and, upon hearing most definitely inhuman voices ahead, activated the active camouflage system on his Mark III Semi-Powered Infiltration armour and peered out of the tunnel to survey the corridor; the camouflage on the newer Mark III functioned in the same manner as the Covenant's version during the Human-Covenant War. He caught sight of two brutes, three jackals, and about five or six grunts, along with a handful of dead marines, occupied the section of the corridor the marines were obviously defending. Since the corridor led directly to the hangar, the intruders would have to be eliminated, he concluded. Deciding that stealth would be the easiest way to do so, the Spartan withdrew and checked to make sure his outdated assault rifle was loaded and the silencer in place before attaching the weapon to the magnetic strips on his back; the new weapons based on particle-beam technology were more effective in combat, but the older weapons that still used powder and bullets were, when equipped with silencers, better suited to stealth than the new variants. He then drew one of his combat knives and crept back to the threshold where the service tunnel joined the main corridor.<p>

Just as one of the jackals was passing by, the Spartan shot an arm out, grabbed it, and then slit its throat with the combat knife and pulled it back into the service tunnel all in one fluid motion, before darting ten metres across the corridor to hide behind a square vertical support beam. Thanks to his armour's active camouflage, he had remained unseen. He then sheathed his combat knife, drew an M6C/SOCOM silenced pistol and waited for one of the aliens to notice its comrade's disappearance.

Sure enough, another Jackal, noticing the small purple splatter of blood in front of the service tunnel entrance, drew its plasma pistol and began to make its way over. The Spartan took aim at the creature, which was now entering the tunnel and, as soon as it was out of sight from the rest of its allies, shot it in the back of the head. One more down. He then crept around the back of the pillar and peered around to the other side of the corridor.

Most of the grunts were clustered at the far end, one brute was making its way over to the service tunnel, and the other brute and remaining jackal were about halfway between the advancing brute and the grunts. All were now aware of a threat present and had their weapons drawn. He would need to act quickly.

The Spartan replaced his pistol with a frag grenade and combat knife and waited for an opportune moment to strike. Just before the first brute turned his back to the Spartan to face the service tunnel entrance, the Spartan lobbed the grenade into the group of grunts. It exploded and took out four just as he leapt onto the back of the first brute and reached around and jammed his knife into its throat, ripping it out sideways and using the rapidly dying creature as a meat shield against the other brute, jackal, and remaining grunts who had now noticed the soldier and had opened fire.

As soon as there was a brief lull in the enemy fire, the Spartan de-cloaked, dropped the now-mutilated corpse and, noticing that the other brute made to charge after him, fled back into the dark service tunnel. He only took a few steps before he squeezed himself into a small recess in the tunnel, flattened his back to the wall, re-cloaked, and drew another combat knife as he waited for the charging brute to pass by.

Predictably, the brute ran past the small alcove without noticing the Spartan, thanks to his active camouflage and the near-darkness of the tunnel. As soon as the brute passed him, he ran after and tackled the larger creature to the ground. The brute roared in pain as he stabbed it in the back multiple times with each knife. The Spartan proceeded to wipe his knives clean on the alien's fur as it died before sheathing them and pulling out his assault rifle. That left two grunts and a single Jackal.

Preparing himself, Spartan-039-2 leapt back out of the service tunnel, de-cloaked, and charged across the blood-soaked corridor towards the remaining enemies. Two short, silent bursts from his assault rifle and the jackal and first grunt were down before they could get a shot off. The last grunt brought his plasma pistol to bear, but was too late as the Spartan, who had by now covered the distance to the grunt, cracked the butt of his weapon against the grunt's skull, easily caving it in thanks to his enhanced strength and thus killing the small creature.

With all enemies blocking his path eliminated, the super-soldier continued onwards to the hangar.

The Spartan sighed in annoyance. What was supposed to be a simple mission had turned into a nightmare. A Forerunner artifact, a strange crystal roughly the size of a football, had been discovered in one of the Outer Colonies and was taken to a UNSC-operated science outpost on the same world for study. Unfortunately, this was around the same time the local Insurrectionists began acting up, and a raid on the outpost took place shortly after the discovery, resulting in the crystal being stolen. The objective of Spartan-039-2's mission was to infiltrate the Insurrectionist facility that the crystal had been taken to and to recover the valuable artifact. Due to the significance of the crystal as a possible means of advancing human technology further, stealth was required rather than raw power and thus the Spartan had been equipped with the Mark III SPI armour rather than his usual Mjolnir Mark VIII powered assault armour.

Once the crystal had been safely recovered, the plan was to deliver it to a facility on one of the more secure Inner Colonies. The problem with plans, however, is that they rarely work perfectly. Spartan-039-2 had successfully recovered the crystal and exfiltrated back to the frigate. But just as the ship was about to transition to slipspace to make the jump back to the Inner Colonies, a battle group of what appeared to be Covenant Remnants emerged from slipspace and attacked the ship. The timing of their arrival seemed almost spiteful. However, instead of trying to destroy the human frigate with their superior numbers, they instead took out the frigate's engines and sent wave after wave of boarding parties to break into the ship. The Spartan could only assume that they were intent on snatching the crystal for themselves.

But the mission wasn't a failure yet; the captain still had a plan, one last-ditch attempt to transport the crystal to safety. The Spartan was ordered to make his way, with the crystal, to the lone Pelican drop ship in the main hangar. There he would receive further instructions from the captain.

After making his way through a series of thankfully empty corridors, the Spartan passed through a set of blast doors and onto the relatively large elevator that led to the different levels of the main hangar. Walking over to the holographic interface, the Spartan selected the bottommost level of the hangar, where the dropships, ground and atmospheric vehicles were stored. The lift sprang to life immediately after the blast doors sealed shut and quickly but quietly descended the numerous levels of the hangar; within seconds the Spartan had reached the "ground" floor.

The blast doors slid open to reveal a large rectangular room large enough to house about fifteen or so pelicans that would normally be attached to the ceiling side by side via docking clamps, while still affording plenty of room for a small fleet of ground vehicles that would sit on the floor. However, the large hangar was completely empty, save for a lone matte-black pelican resting on the floor on the far side of the room, which the Spartan proceeded towards.

The super-soldier circled around to the back of the dropship, punched in a code on a keypad next to the hatch, and entered the vehicle as soon as the doors slid open. It must have been one of the newer models, he noted, as the pilot's and co-pilot's seats were positioned next to each other, reverting back to the original design of the dropship. He removed the crystal, in its magnetic carrier harness, from the small of his back and placed it on the co-pilots seat while he took a seat in the pilot's chair and awaited contact from the bridge. He didn't have to wait long before the radio in his suits com systems crackled to life.

"This is Captain Moreau, we've been tracking your progress, Spartan; well done. The Covenant Remnants have disabled our engines and until we can bring them online we're basically sitting ducks. But our slipspace drive is still functional. The plan is to use it to tear a hole in front of the ship but instead of the frigate going through, you and your pelican will. We've uploaded slipspace coordinates to one of the neighbouring Outer Colonies to your pelican and as soon as you reach those coordinates, you'll transition back to normal space in much the same manner as the long range stealth orbital insertion pods. From there you'll transfer ships and deliver the crystal to the Office of Naval Intelligence headquarters in new Alexandria, on Reach. Do you understand, Spartan?"

"Sir, yes sir," answered Spartan-039-2 in his deep, resonant voice.

"Good. Ready your pelican; we'll be opening the door shortly. Good luck, Spartan."

His new orders received, the Spartan IV keyed in the ignition code for the pelican which gently rumbled to life and began hovering just above the floor of the hangar. Sure enough, the atmosphere from the hangar was vented and a rectangular segment of the hangar floor beneath the dropship began swiveling downwards. As soon as there was sufficient space to manoeuvre, the Spartan dropped the pelican through the hatch and into the black void of space.

Although, truthfully, the space outside the frigate was anything but empty. Chaotic would perhaps be a better description, as a fierce battle raged on between Covenant Remnants and the UNSC frigate. Starfighters of both sides smashed each other to pieces, exploding like brilliant orange and blue fireworks and showering the area with debris. Boarding craft were split open before they reached their intended target, spewing their "cargo" and floating adrift, almost resembling a dead creature. Streaks of plasma, shot from the Covenant's ship-mounted cannons, bathed the area in bright flashes of blue. There was a strange, detached sort of beauty to all the destruction, if one could somehow overlook the fact that people were dying over a small crystal.

But Spartan-039-2 had been given his orders and had no time to spare for finding beauty in chaos. He plotted a course along the bottom of the immobilized frigate to avoid getting sucked into the dogfight that was raging on between the frigate and Covenant vessels and was soon joined by an escort of two Sabre class starfighters. Most of the Covenant fighters left the pelican alone but the occasional few that tried to intercept the Spartan were quickly destroyed by the coordinated fire of the two Sabre escorts.

As Spartan-039-2 and his escorts neared the front of the frigate, the space directly in front of the tip of the frigate began to shimmer, distorting the light that passed by in almost the same manner as hot air over an open fire. The magnitude of distortion increased as bolts of electricity arced around the area. Then suddenly there was a bright flash as the portal to slipspace was opened, appearing as a pitch black orb through which no visible light emerged, rimmed by bright blue energy that also snaked across the surface of the portal in tendrils resembling lightning.

As soon as the portal opened, the Spartan piloted the pelican straight towards it while the two Sabres that had been escorting him broke away from the dropship to re-engage the enemy fighters. As the pelican made contact with the portal, the blue energy surrounding it began to envelope the dropship, encasing it and gently drawing it inwards. The portal quickly deteriorated shortly after the Spartan crossed the threshold, sealing him in slipspace until he reached the coordinates of the colony he was to transfer ships at.

Unlike normal space, slipspace appeared pitch black. This was due to the fact that in slipspace, there was nothing that produced light, not in the visible spectrum at any rate; there were no suns, no stars, and usually the only matter that existed in slipspace were ships that utilize it for faster-than-light transportation.

Also different was the incredibly bumpy ride that the pelican was experiencing. The dropship was jostled so hard it was almost as if it were a plane flying through an area of extreme turbulence. In fact, Spartan-039-2 had to strap himself in with the restraining harness in the pilot's chair to keep from being thrown out of his seat. But this was explained by the fact that in slipspace, instead of travelling in a smooth, three-dimensional environment, ships were actually traversing a set of eleven dimensions all tangled up and flowing over each other, sort of like a crumpled up wad of paper. The immense mass of starships stabilizes the surrounding slipspace to a degree, however smaller ships, such as dropships, experience considerably more stress due to their lighter mass. Thankfully, the newer variants of the pelican dropships had upgraded armour plating and increased reinforcement.

As a result of both the relatively short distance between the colony worlds the Spartan was travelling between, and technological advancements in slipspace technology since the Human-Covenant War, the trip would only take about an hour.

Although, after a little while, the soldier noticed something odd: the crystal, which he had to hold onto to keep from bouncing around the cockpit, had started to glow, emitting a pale white light. And yet more interestingly, the closer he got to his destination, the brighter and more intense the light grew. How strange; the crystal wasn't doing anything like this before the jump to slipspace. Although it certainly wasn't unheard of for Forerunner artifacts to behave differently in slipspace. But did it mean anything? Was the crystal doing something? Or was it merely as simple as an object reacting to different laws of physics in some odd way? In the Spartan's extensive experience, though, things were rarely as simple as they seemed.

As the pelican was arriving at the coordinates, the crystal was shining almost as bright as a small flare and practically hummed with innate energy. Only the helmet's polarized visor kept the light from overloading the Spartan's sensitive eyes. A hole to normal space was now being opened and as the pelican made contact with the portal, the crystal released a small shockwave of some sort of energy that reverberated throughout the dropship before dissipating; it also stopped its emission of light and grew dark once more.

But something was wrong. Instead of being gently drawn into the portal, as it was when entering slipspace, the pelican was forcefully and violently ejected across the threshold, and then promptly shut down once in normal space. Had the crystal released an EMP burst? With the dropship's systems offline, Spartan-039-2 would not only be unable to travel, but would also be unable to communicate to other ships in the area that he was immobilized. He would be paralyzed until the pelican's systems came back online. This was not good, at all.

And to complicate matters even further, it appeared that instead of reappearing in orbit around the planet, the portal had actually spit the dropship out into the upper regions of the planet's atmosphere. Combined with the fact that the dropship had just been disabled, this meant that the Spartan had effectively just been thrown into a free fall. Why couldn't anything ever go according to plan?

Peering out of the cockpit's windows, Spartan-039-2 could make out a large landmass far below that appeared to have vegetation similar to Earth's or Reach's. There were large islands off one of the coasts, ocean off another that appeared to worm its way into the continent, forming a long narrow sea. Without knowing the directions of the poles of the planet, the Spartan didn't really have any indication of direction to work with. Thought at least he appeared to be plummeting towards this land mass, rather than into the open oceans.

Refocusing his attention to the dropship, the Spartan frantically attempted to bring the engines back online. The controls, however, remained unresponsive. Cursing, he tried again, only to be met once more with silence from the dropship. A third attempt was met with further failure. Glancing outside, he noted that the pelican had already fallen below cloud level and appeared to be heading for a mountainous region by the coast of that long narrow sea. Time was very rapidly running out.

The pelican was plunging to the surface of the planet at a downwards angle and the nose section in which the cockpit was located would be the first part of the dropship to smash into the ground. But perhaps the dropship would crumple or buckle in such a manner that the troop bay, located further back, would experience somewhat of a cushioning effect to reduce the force of the impact. Perhaps. The odds of survival couldn't be worse than in the cockpit.

Not wasting what precious little time he had left, Spartan-039-2 made his way out of the cockpit into the troop bay, strapping himself into the furthest back seat, no easy feat considering he had to fight against gravity due to the angle at which the dropship was plummeting to the ground.

Each moment before the pelican finally hit the ground seemed to last for a dreadfully long time, due to the Spartan's enhanced nervous system and the adrenaline surging through his body. For one painfully long stretch of time, he dreaded the inevitable. For another seemingly interminable moment, he raged at his inability to alter the situation any further.

And then the dropship met the ground.

For a split second, he recalled slamming his head into a bulkhead with tremendous force, and was aware of a sharp pain in his lower abdomen that burned as hot and as bright as a star before darkness overtook him.

Then there was nothing.

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><p><strong>And there's the first chapter. I hope it wasn't too bad. To those who either are unfamiliar with the Halo universe or didn't catch the hint(s), in relation to the time line of the Halo universe, the events of this chapter are set in the future. (Though "future" is a relative term and depends on the meaning of "present," so let us define "present" as the end of the Human-Covenant War, or in other words, the point in the Halo time line at which the story in Halo 3 is concluded.) But in future chapters this relation will be irrelevant since my character is now in the Dragon Age universe (and because the flow of time in one universe is independent of the flow of time in another).<strong>

**Also, you may have noticed that I hardly described my character. The reason for this is that I'd prefer to do it from the point of view of the Dragon Age characters, some of whom he will meet in the next chapter. In terms of physical ability, I plan on my character being more or less equal to Spartan-II commandos without their Mjolnir power armour (which further enhances their abilities for those of you who didn't know). **

**I would like to get the second chapter out before my fall term at university begins, a week and a half from now; but, perhaps because I'm a new writer, writing doesn't actually come easily to me, so it will take time and I can't promise anything.**

**And with that, I'm off! **


	2. Chapter II

**Here's the second chapter. My beta's taking a while to get back to me and I feel bad enough about taking longer than I said I would, so I thought I'd post what I have already. It's finished, but might be in need of some polishing up or something; I'll let you, the reader, be the judge of that. If that's the case, then I'll just make the changes and resubmit the chapter, but for now at least it's up. I apologize in advance for any glaring mistakes I may have made; if you feel that I've seriously messed something up, kindly point it out to me and I'll fix it when I have time. For now, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to either the Halo series, or the Dragon Age Series. All characters except Spartan-039-2 belong to BioWare.**

**Word Count: 5 029**

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><p>The first thing the Spartan perceived upon regaining consciousness was pain. His vision had yet to return, as did his hearing. But until his other senses returned, there was only darkness and silence and pain. And the pain was everywhere, all over his body. There was not a part of him that didn't hurt. But pain was good; pain meant that he was alive and not dead. He could deal with it though, make it more bearable; it was an unavoidable part of his life, after all.<p>

However, the pain he felt in his lower abdomen was far greater in magnitude than anywhere else. And it was of a different nature; rather than the dull aching that throbbed and pulsed all over most of his body, this pain was sharp as a scalpel and felt burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The area around it felt warm and wet also. Not a good sign.

Slowly, the Spartan's vision started to return, blurry and fuzzy at first, but eventually gaining in clarity. All he could see were the web of cracks his helmet's visor had acquired and the dim red lighting of the pelican's interior. He made to sit up and the pain in his lower abdomen immediately intensified. After managing to make it into a sitting position, the Spartan looked down to where the intense pain was emanating from and noticed a shard of metal protruding about 10 centimetres from his abdomen. Definitely not a good sign. Although, judging from the position of the shard, it likely missed any vital organs. But it still needed to come out.

Noticing one of the health packs had fallen to the floor of the downed pelican, Spartan-039-2 grabbed it and removed a canister of biofoam. He inserted the nozzle between armour plates and into wound and released the contents of the canister, groaning in pain as the substance took effect. Some excess biofoam, light green in colour, oozed out between the plates of his armour as he withdrew the now-empty canister and tossed it aside. The foam polymer was actually an antibacterial coagulant that also helped to induce tissue regeneration, but it was only a temporary solution; eventually he'd have to get medical treatment.

His wound taken care of for the moment, the Spartan then turned his attention to his armour. The helmet was compromised, there was no question about that; the armour plating was dented and cracked in several places as well as the visor being riddles with cracks. As would be quite unwise to wear something with a visor that threatened to shatter in his face, the Spartan ditched the helmet. He then opened a small compartment, just above the space between his shoulder blades, and pulled out a retractable cord with a single large circular prong on the end. He then inserted the prong into the specialized neural interface at the base of his skull, thus replacing the necessary connection between his nervous system and his suit, which had been lost with the removal of his helmet. The neural interface eliminated the need for a manual, mechanical one and allowed the user to control the functions of the suit with their mind and thoughts, literally making the suit an extension of the user's body.

With the connection replaced, the Spartan then ran a diagnostics program to check the extant of the damage the suit of SPI armour had received. After a few seconds, the results came up on the Helmet Mounted Display, now integrated directly into the Spartan's vision due to the loss of the helmet. Several armour plates were damaged, but that was no big deal since they could easily be replaced by new ones. The actual underlying body suit had been ruptured in several locations, with an especially large puncture where that shard of metal had buried itself in his abdomen. Needless to say, the suit was no longer air-tight, though the climate-control functions were still intact. But most unfortunately, his armour's energy shielding was offline due to irreparable damage to the shield projector. To make matters worse, the suit's active camouflage generator had also sustained damage. The generator would now only be able to function for a small fraction of the time it could normally work for before the cloaking would fail and need to be recharged. While still useful, it would be nowhere near as reliable as before. But the suit was still functional and most of the armour plating and Kevlar was still intact, so it would still be useful.

Next, Spartan-039-2 had to find out where he crashed. The soldier tried to stand up, but was unable to do so. The force of the impact when the pelican crashed had warped and buckled the frame of the dropship, and he could only manage a crouching position before his head hit the roof. The front area of the troop bay that led to the cockpit was completely crushed with the floor and the roof nearly touching. The walls of the troop pay had been ripped open in parts and some light was able to shine through in areas. Needless to say, the cockpit was inaccessible. This was problematic as he had left his guns and the crystal in there. He still had his many combat knives though, as they were still strapped to his armour. But once he re-established contact with the UNSC, he could come back, cut into the cockpit and retrieve his objective.

The rear area of the troop bay fared better. While still damaged and warped, the extant of the damage the frame had suffered was less than the cockpit area. The buckled frame must have forced the bay doors open, as they bent partially outwards from the pelican, obviously damaged, but were forced open enough so that the Spartan could crawl out.

Once outside, the Spartan noted that the sun was much lower in the sky, appearing as an orange ball of flame just above the horizon. Apparently some time had passed since when the Spartan came out of slipspace in the atmosphere of the planet, it had appeared to be around midday. Bringing up his suit's mission clock, he confirmed that over seven hours had indeed passed since he regained consciousness. It was odd that no one had come to investigate; a team should have been dispatched immediately to investigate the crash.

He needed to re-establish contact with UNSC forces, though, so he began scanning the radio frequencies and channels the military used for communication with his suit's com systems. But there was only silence. He tried another frequency, but there was still only silence. Several more frequencies later and yet more silence came through. How very strange. But what about civilian radio frequencies? He hadn't tried those. Figuring he had to try something, the Spartan began scanning the civilian frequencies. But as was the case with the military frequencies, silence was all that answered him.

Something was very wrong here. Why was there no communication? Had the com relays been taken offline? Was the colony-world under attack, and radio-communications jammed?

But if he couldn't re-establish contact with the UNSC, perhaps the Spartan could at least find out where he was on the colony-world. With that in mind, he began trying to establish a link with the network of GPS satellites that were a standard feature of every colony. He could download a map of the area and make his way to the nearest population centre and find out what was going on.

But, as was the case with his attempts to re-establish communication, there was no response from the satellites. He tried a second time and still no connection was found. A third attempt yielded the same results. No communications and no geographical data. _Shit._ Perhaps his suit was malfunctioning? No that couldn't be right; the diagnostics program had reported that the com systems in the suit were undamaged. But then, what could possibly cause an entire colony-world to just go dark?

The pelican had dug a wide, shallow trench of sorts when it crashed, perhaps about fifteen metres wide on average, forty metres long, and about three metres deep in the centre. Spartan-039-2 climbed over the side and examined his surroundings. It appeared that he had crashed in some sort of wooded area; there were broken and knocked over trees around the trench, and beyond he could see what seemed to be a deciduous forest. To the north, according to his suit's compass, the Spartan could see small mountains in the distance, not large enough for the peaks to reach a treeline, but not small enough to be considered foothills either. Below and to the south, he could see low, rolling hills which eventually flattened out and turned into a coastline. This matched his earlier observation he made of the land as he free-fell towards it in the pelican dropship.

Deciding that it would be a good idea to recon the surrounding area, the Spartan returned to the downed pelican to collect the supplies that it housed. After he crawled back inside, he opened one of the overhead lockers located above the seats in the troop bay – whose locking mechanisms kept them sealed during the crash – and pulled out what was essentially an armoured backpack. He then began checking the other lockers for any supplies which may or may not have been loaded onto the pelican while it was still docked in the frigate. In a lot of the lockers, he found mostly useless things, like spare ammunition for the guns he didn't have or various weapon attachments, like scopes and silencers and whatnot. Some even had nothing in them. But there were a few valuable items to be found; one locker contained a week's supply of MREs, another contained boots and a set of ordinary clothing that looked like it would fit the Spartan, while a third contained several more health packs. The Spartan grabbed these items and stuffed them into his pack.

A few lockers had some very interesting contents however. Stored inside a couple lockers were the contents of an SPI armour maintenance kit, consisting of spare armour plating and other materials that could be used to patch up the body suit. As useful as the materials were, the Spartan decided to leave them be for now; he could repair some of the damage to his suit after he surveyed the area around the crashed pelican, not to mention the fact that he couldn't fit them all into the backpack.

The last locker he checked contained what appeared to a cube constructed from some black metal with a side length of around fifteen centimetres. The little device was actually a powerful portable computer, far more powerful than the meagre computer systems in his SPI armour. Deciding it would probably be useful, he decided to pack it away in his backpack. After the Spartan cleared out the lockers in the pelican, he crawled back outside and climbed out of the small trench.

But just as the Spartan was about to set out, a certain noise caught his attention. Even with his enhanced hearing, he had to strain to hear it. It sounded almost like…human voices? Could that be right? So far it was the only sign of civilization that the Spartan had come across. The voices were coming from the south, farther into the forest. Deciding that it was definitely worth looking into, Spartan-039-2 set out.

The going was slower than the Spartan would have liked as the forest he was travelling through, while not particularly dense, was quite rocky. The low levels of light, however, were not a problem due to his enhanced eyesight; he could see almost as well in the dark as an ordinary human could during the day. But he must have been making good time and gaining on the source of the voices if their improving clarity was anything to go by.

But the Spartan was curious as to who the voices belonged to. They couldn't be UNSC military; soldiers were never this loud and if the planet _had_ come under invasion, then their behaviour wouldn't match with the absence of radio communications. It was unlikely that they were civilians since he didn't spot any major population centres in the area as he was falling in the pelican. Hmm, Insurrectionists perhaps? They night have some hidden base or centre of operations tucked away in the mountains. No, that can't be right, it still wouldn't match the radio silence. So who _could_ it be?

But as Spartan-039-2 was trying to identify the owners of the voices, they suddenly fell silent. That was odd. Why would they stop now? But the super-soldier was undeterred by their sudden disappearance. He still needed to find the owners and perhaps have the planet's strange silent condition explained. He continued making his way in the direction that the voices were last heard.

Over rocks, around trees, and through bushes for another hundred metres or so and off in the distance, through the tree trunks, Spartan-039-2 could make out what appeared to be the start of a small clearing. Standing perhaps fifteen metres from the edge of the glade was a small group of people, no doubt the owners of the voices he followed.

They appeared to be wearing crude plate armour of the variety that was common before the advent of gunpowder. Odd; that sort of armour was entirely ineffective against nearly all modern weapons, projectile-based or directed energy-based, why would they be using it? Matching their long-obsolete armour, they were also equipped with what appeared to be medieval longswords. Who _were_ these people?

As the Spartan was about to approach the strange group, he noticed another man, equipped in the same bizarre fashion as the others, return to the group from his position just behind the boundary that separated the forest from the glade and begin to speak to his comrades. Deciding he'd like to learn more about these strange people, the Spartan crept closer to the group, utilizing his suit as well as his natural talents for stealth to remain undetected. As he got closer, he was able to make out what they were discussing.

"There's a lone Dalish elf in the clearing over there. Only weapon she's got with her is a big stick. Easy prey I say, we could nab her and head straight to the holding caves afterwards," the newcomer said.

_An elf? What?_

"You mean a staff? That means she's a mage, you idiot! Don't you got any idea what she'd do to us if we tried taking her?" Another of the group hissed in reply.

_Do they actually believe in magic?_

"Don't you know how much the Tevinters pay for mage flesh? She'd easily be worth as much as the other slaves back combined," yet another added in, "besides, there's only one of her, right? No one else there you said?"

"That's right, she's all by her lonesome," replied the first man.

_Elves, magic, and slavers? What on Earth is going on?_

"Then why not just take her? We'd double our profits, and there's a lot more of us than there are of her anyway," the third man said.

"Well, I guess she can't get _all_ of us, I don't think," the second man added.

"Then let's do it," the third man finished as he drew his sword. The rest of the slavers – for apparently that's what they were – followed suit and unsheathed their weapons.

Which, of course, was the Spartan's queue to do what he did best.

* * *

><p>Merrill was just so frustrated. Why couldn't the Keeper understand? The Eluvian wasn't dangerous; the shard she had kept wasn't a danger to the clan. While it was tragic that Tamlen had been… well lost, probably dead, that had only happened because the mirror they found back in that old ruin in Fereldan's Brecilian Forest was contaminated with the taint. But they had destroyed it; she had only kept a fragment of it <em>and<em> she had cleansed it of the taint. Why did the Keeper still fear it? Wasn't it her job to remember, to restore as much of the past as possible?

The only reason that Merrill could think of for the Keeper's disapproval was fear. But that still didn't seem like the Keeper. It was all so confusing. And frustrating. Why couldn't they understand?

She had decided that she needed time away from the clan and the Keeper to clear her head, calm herself down. So she had come to a special place she had found shortly after her clan had arrived at Sundermount from Fereldan. It was a little glade about an hour's walk down the mountain from her clan's camp, where the forest grew denser. It was roughly circular with a small average diameter of only about eight metres, and it had a large rock in the middle that was perfect for sitting on or leaning against. The other reason that she liked it was that nobody ever came here; it was practically her own private little area of the forest.

Merrill was currently sitting cross-legged on top of the rock, watching the sunset. The sun had just fallen below the canopy formed by the trees, and the clouds were bathed in brilliant shades of orange and pink. Golden beams of light from the setting sun poked their way through the tree trunks while the sky behind her had just started to darken.

She had been sitting in her glade for about an hour now, initially thinking mostly of random and unrelated things to distract her from the tension between her and the Keeper, like the stories hahren Paivel told of the old elven empire of Arlathan, or if humans heard things differently than elves due to their round, funny-shaped ears. Things like that.

But Merrill was suddenly snapped back to reality when she heard what must have been battle cries coming from the forest in front of her, not very far from where the trees marked the beginning of the glade. She looked up in time to see several tall figures encased in grey plate armour with swords drawn, rushing out of the forest and towards the glade.

"Grab the elf, but keep her alive!" One of the figures shouted. They must have been human, she realized; they were too tall to be elves. These men couldn't be coming for _her_ could they? What had she done? She didn't know any humans, so why were these humans after her? No, they couldn't be after her! Surely she was mistaken. But there was no one else around. By the Creators, they _were_ after her!

The charging humans were drawing closer, their armoured boots thundering across the rocky forest floor, eating up the distance in great strides. With trembling hands, she grabbed her staff. The men were nearly at the edge of the forest now. Fear gripped Merrill; while she knew some offensive magic, she had never needed to make use of it before, and the only practice she had was done alone in private. She focused the staff's magic and shot a glowing green ball of nature-oriented magic at the nearest figure. Her fear and inexperience caused it to go wide and miss its target.

Elgar'nan, she was going to die! Fear had sunk its icy tendrils into her stomach, paralyzing her and rooting her to the spot and unable to do anything except watch in terror as the armoured humans drew closer.

But then something very strange happened. Just as the leading man was about to clear the trees and enter the glade, he was slammed sideways into a tree trunk with a loud thud by some invisible force while a wide gash appeared across the man's throat, just above where the cuirass ended. Blood immediately poured from the wound and the man crumpled to the ground.

Before Merrill even had time to process this, another man's head jerked sharply and unnaturally far to the right with an audible crunch. This time, Merrill noticed a large blur behind the man as he dropped to the ground, some sort of distortion; it was almost as if the area was under water judging by how the light bent.

But as quickly as she had seen it, the blur had moved on to another man. He was lifted off the ground, screaming in agony, as the tip of a blade emerged from the junction where his collar bones must have met. As suddenly as it appeared, the blade was withdrawn and the man was flung into one of his companions, knocking the other to the ground. By now, the aggressors' attentions had shifted from Merrill to the unknown assailant that had brutally dispatched three of their number in a matter of seconds. It appeared that she was momentarily forgotten.

But Merrill watched in amazed confusion (and perhaps a bit of trepidation) as _another_ equally strange thing happened; the blur, which had now moved into the glade and was between her and the armed humans, warped the light that passed through it to an extremely high magnitude, far more than before, for just a brief moment in time before a man suddenly appeared in its place, almost as if he sprang out of the strange blur.

Well Merrill thought it was a man, it was shaped liked a man, but larger than any man she'd seen before, human or otherwise, as he towered over the humans by at least a head. She could make out strange black and grey armour, but not much else as the figure immediately engaged the group of armed hostiles, moving almost supernaturally fast as he did so.

He charged towards one of the humans, who brought his two-handed greatsword to bear as he stepped into the clearing towards the large being, but swift and hard punch slammed into his face, staggering him backwards. The giant easily relieved him of his large weapon and, effortlessly wielding it single-handedly like a longsword, decapitated him.

The giant looked up and noticed three more men rushing at him in an attempt to overwhelm him. As soon as the first man, who was somewhat ahead of his companions, was close enough, the giant lashed out with a kick that sent the man sprawling backwards a good several metres. He then swung his confiscated greatsword in a wide horizontal arc that caught the other two men who, while protected by their armour, were knocked to the ground by the sheer force of the swing. The giant made his way over to one of the downed men and brought his large armoured boot down on the man's head. Without pause, he dashed over to the other downed man and plunged the blade of his greatsword into the man's unprotected neck.

By this time, the first man he had sent sprawling had managed to pick himself up off the ground. Noticing this, the giant leveled his weapon and charged at the man, aiming for the area of his abdomen just underneath where the cuirass ended. The man noticed the giant's attempt and made to flee. Speed was apparently not the man's strong suit as the large warrior easily crossed the distance and impaled him on his greatsword. The momentum from the warrior's charge propelled him and his victim forwards and the tip of the large sword sank into a tree trunk, effectively nailing the smaller man, now howling in what must have been excruciating pain, to the tree.

The giant warrior turned, then, and spotted what must have been the last man of the party of armed assailants, a few metres away just behind the trees that marked the start of the forest. The lone man had an expression of terror on his face as his mouth opened and closed, like a beached fish, no sound escaping. He then dropped his blade and made a futile attempt at fleeing.

It didn't take long for the large warrior to close the distance between the two. The giant drew an odd-looking blade and as soon as the fleeing man was in arm's reach, he yanked him back and plunged the knife into the front of the man's throat; the body slumped to the ground as he ripped the knife out sideways.

Throughout the whole scene, Merrill had stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a strange combination of fear and morbid fascination. Unless she was quite mistaken, she had just seen one person massacre a group of armed men in little over a minute! But what if the mysterious warrior decided to turn on her next? What could she possibly do against such a force?

She flinched in dread apprehension as the giant turned to face her and took a few stumbling steps backwards until her back came into contact with the rock in the middle of the glade. She was trapped she realized; she had nowhere to go. If she tried to run for it, surely the large warrior would be able to easily catch up to her. She had nowhere to go.

But for the first time since he had appeared, the warrior's back wasn't turned to her and she could make him out in greater detail as he began to walk towards her, and once again she was transfixed by a strange fascination, but this time with the warrior's appearance.

He was exceedingly tall, had to be at least seven feet she figured. His face actually looked like that of a human; he had round ears and a light dusting of stubble on his face, and his hair was black and cut very short. His skin was olive-coloured and he had a slanted scar that ran across his left eye and part of his sharp nose. But it was the eyes that most fascinated Merrill. Unlike the eyes of elves and the humans she had seen on rare occasion, he had no "whites"; instead, his sclera were jet black with large irises of a magnificent ice-blue colour.

She also recalled that he seemed to have a cord of some sort _coming out of_ the back of his head! It connected to his armour, she thought she saw. Or perhaps it came out of his armour and connected to his head? She couldn't tell which, but she found it somewhat creepy and…fascinating also.

But the fear was still there. One moment, she had been sitting peacefully on the rock in her glade, and then all of a sudden a group of armed humans had tried to attack her, but were slaughtered before they could do any harm in little more than a minute by this huge…thing, person, whatever-he-was, who seemed to thrive in combat. What if he attacked her next? As the large being entered the glade, Merrill instinctively reached for her staff with trembling hands.

"Stay back," she warned, panic evident in her voice, as she brought her staff to bear.

"Relax," the being spoke in a deep, rumbling, resonant voice, apparently aware of her terror, "you're safe. I have no intention of harming you."

As he said this, Merrill realized that he'd taken no hostile actions towards her yet, and had stopped those men _before_ they could do anything to her. Maybe he _wasn't_ going to tear her apart with his bare hands then.

"Who, um…what are you? Who were those men?" Merrill asked, her voice quivering as she did so.

"I'm Spartan zero three nine dash two, lieutenant of the UNSC navy. Those men were slavers whose intent was to abduct you. As for what I am, please elaborate," the…Spartan responded cryptically.

"Oh. I mean what race are you? You're certainly not an elf! And you don't look human either," said Merrill.

"I am human," he rumbled.

"Really? I didn't know humans got so big! Or had eyes like that," Merrill remarked inquisitively, her fear replaced by curiosity, "though I've only ever met a couple humans. This one man had a marvelous beard! I'd never seen one before; elves don't grow beards. And I'm rambling, aren't I? I do that when I'm nervous, sorry. I'll stop talking now," Merrill trailed off. But she noticed the large man had been listening to her intently and didn't look the slightest bit impatient with her.

"That's alright," the giant said "I'm not from here and I'm unfamiliar with this place; I don't know where I am. Would you be able to help me?"

"Um, I suppose I could-oh, you're hurt! When did you get hurt?" Merrill exclaimed as she noticed blood beginning to flow between the plates of the giant's strange armour, over his lower abdomen.

"I was injured prior to my encounter with the slavers. The wound requires medical attention," he responded.

"Oh," was Merrill's short response. She paused to consider whether or not she should help this strange man, and how she might do so. "I suppose I could bring you to my clan's Keeper; she would be able to heal you and help you with your other questions I think."

"Thank you, I appreciate your help," he said.

In truth, Merrill was a bit unsure if bringing the man to her clan was wise, but he _had _saved her, and the Keeper was a mage and knew how to defend herself. The hunters could just shoot him from a distance too if he became violent, so she supposed it would be alright.

"I'll show you the way to our camp, it isn't far," she told the Spartan, who merely nodded in reply. And with that, Merrill turned and left the clearing in the opposite direction the slavers had come from. The heavy thuds that the Spartan's armoured boots made as they hit the ground told her that he was following.

By now the forest was much darker than when she had come here, but they'd be able to make it back to camp before night fell; the camp was only about a half-hour's trek away and she knew the surrounding area well. Merrill only hoped that she wouldn't come to regret her decision to help this man.

* * *

><p><strong>That's all for now, but before I head out, here are a couple things to consider. Firstly, I'm aware that my character's personality and background are hardly explored thus far, but that will actually be the main focus of the next chapter; I appreciate your patience regarding this matter. Secondly, I'd like to apologize for exceeding my stated deadline for posting this chapter. From now on, I'll try for the more realistic (I hope) goal of completing one chapter about every four weeks or so (possibly less but no promises), the reasons being my extreme inexperience and my school-work getting in the way. Again, I appreciate your patience and understanding. <strong>

**Also, I find that reviews help me out a great deal, whether they're as simple as "I like story!" or are more critical and suggest areas to improve upon, they're helpful and encouraging. So my thanks to all of you who took the time to leave a comment or review, they're much appreciated.  
><strong>

**And that's all for now, have a good one!**


	3. Chapter III

**Here's the third chapter. I'm surprised I managed to get it out so quickly. I was planning on it including the contents of what will be the fourth chapter as well, but I decided to split it up due to length and, admittedly, a desire to not take longer than necessary between chapter uploads. **

**Disclaimer: I own the rights to neither Halo nor Dragon Age. They are owned by 343 Industries and BioWare respectively.**

**Word Count: 5 296**

* * *

><p>It had gotten darker as Spartan-039-2 and his strange escort set out, with a few stars already out in the sky. The odd pair marched on in silence for a short while after setting out, for which the Spartan was grateful; he was mostly thinking about his encounter with the slavers he had dispatched and this…elf that he had rescued. Something was <em>seriously<em> off.

He had landed (well crash-landed, to be precise) on what was supposed to be one of the Outer Colonies, which had gone silent. Strange enough in its own right. He then encountered men, apparently in the business of slavery, who utilised archaic weapons and armour. Even stranger. Then it turns out that the girl he had defended was apparently a member of what was supposed to be a mythological species. And to complicate things even further, her stick she carried seemed to be some sort of directed-energy weapon; he had seen her shoot some form of energy from it before she was overcome with panic. How could an apparently primitive world, in which clans still existed and the use of archaic weapons and armour was common, produce directed-energy weapons?

The Spartan studied the figure of this "elf" as they trudged through the darkening forest. Her body seemed to have nearly the same proportions as a human. The only differences that he could identify were the rather obvious pointed ears, a somewhat smaller and slighter build than the average human female, and a slightly different nose shape, one where the bridge didn't dip under the brow ridge like the noses of humans do. But he couldn't spot anything else uniquely different from a typical human.

The girl herself was quite a bit smaller than the Spartan; she was at least a foot and a half shorter. She had short black hair, pale skin, lighter than his, and green eyes. Perhaps her most interesting feature, the Spartan thought, was the intricate and symmetrical pattern of tattoos on her face that started between and just above her eyebrows and branched outwards, curving down and around the eyes and onto her cheeks. She was wearing a green tunic with fur covering the shoulders, a green scarf over top of that, and chainmail shirt underneath.

So where was he? Was he on a different planet? Did the slipspace portal spit him out into a different location than the one indicated by his coordinates? It would certainly explain the lack of com signals. But the level of convergent evolution between humans and these so-called elves was staggering. The odds of a particular species evolving into a form nearly identical to humans, as opposed to the near-infinite other possibilities, were _incredibly_ low; even given the vast number of habitable worlds capable of supporting life in the galaxy, it still seemed far too unlikely for these elves to have evolved. So where _was_ he?

As he was following the young woman, she would periodically stop to stare at him in curiosity for a moment or two; he didn't mind though, it was certainly better than the hostile glares he received from marines and especially the O.D.S.T.s, and he hadn't been called a freak yet. But it occurred to him that he didn't know her name. Perhaps talking to her might yield some answers? Judging from the way she kept staring at him, it seemed she, too, had questions. The nature of her questions might also prove to be enlightening, he supposed. Certainly the more intel he could get the better.

"I realized I don't know what to call you," he started. She stopped and turned to face him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, "I'm Merrill. I completely forgot to introduce myself, um…back there. You must think I'm terribly rude! I haven't met many humans so I don't know how they behave, and I think I said that already…" she trailed off.

She seemed nervous. Compared to how he'd been treated before, she didn't seem rude at all. Well, he wasn't offended at any rate.

"You're not rude," he responded, "but where am I? What is this world called?" he asked rather directly, to which she gave confused look.

"We're in the Free Marches, in Thedas," Merrill responded.

"Thedas is the name of this planet?" The Spartan queried.

"No, Thedas is the name of this continent," Merrill corrected him, "I don't really think the world has a name. Or if it does, I don't know it. But what did you mean when you said you're not from this world? Where _would_ you be from then? Certainly not the Fade. What other worlds would there be? And what's a planet?" She bombarded him with questions.

Merrill was very inquisitive, it seemed. But her questions were, as he predicted, revealing; it seemed the people here had little to no knowledge of astronomy which, to the Spartan, indicated (at least scientifically) primitive societies. But what was this Fade?

"There are other worlds in existence capable of supporting life. A planet is a type of world. I'm from another of these worlds," he answered her. While he was curious about this Fade, he could ask later; there were other, more important questions that needed answering first.

"Really? Fascinating. But where are these worlds?" Merrill inquired.

How could he put it in terms she could understand? After a moment's consideration, he had an answer.

"They exist among the stars, located vast distances from here," he answered. The look on her face as he said this seemed to be one of curiosity and wonder. No doubt, even phrased in this manner, it was difficult for her to comprehend, or so he assumed.

But they needed to keep moving if they were to reach Merrill's clan soon. And the sooner he had his wound addressed, the better.

"Could we keep moving?" he requested.

"Oh, um, of course, I'm sorry," and with that she turned and resumed leading the Spartan through the forest.

"And what are the Free Marches?" the Spartan queried as they made their way through the forest.

"Um, I'm not really sure actually," Merrill started to reply, "it's a region with some cities in it, but it's not like a kingdom, I don't think. I don't know what it's called, I don't really know much about the human nations."

The Spartan compared this information to his basic knowledge of early human civilizations; perhaps the Free Marches were a collection of city-states, like ancient Greece? Perhaps that's what she meant when she said it's not like a kingdom.

"And what of the elves? Do you have any nations?" he asked.

Hearing this question, Merrill glanced up to the Spartan. From what he could make of the brief moment he saw her face before she looked downwards, she seemed to be sad, practically dejected. As if to confirm his thoughts, her shoulders seemed to slump a little and she let out a soft sigh.

"Not for a long time," she began, "after the destruction of our kingdoms, most elves assimilated into the human societies. The few that refused formed the Dalish clans, dedicated to preserving our lost culture," as she said this, the Spartan noticed the stark change in her tone, from uncertain and curious to downright depressed. It was obvious that this was an important issue to her. But he needed to know more about this world.

As the duo made their way further up the mountain, the forest began to grow less and less dense until there was mostly rock and grass with the odd tree scattered here and there. They must be close by now.

As if to confirm his thoughts, he began to be able to make out, thanks to his superior hearing, the sounds of what he assumed to be her clan; faint conversations carried on the wind, the sounds of pots and pans being handled, even what sounded like a musical instrument.

"Your clan is fairly close by, then?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded, "how did you know?"

"I can hear them. You can't?"

"Really? I can't hear them. But we're almost there."

So elves had approximately the same hearing as the average human then. Interesting; the differences in ear shape must be mostly superficial then.

After a few more minutes of silent walking, the pair came to a particularly rocky spot of the mountain; the ground on either side of them seemed to slope upwards, forming something between a trench and a small valley, and there were a couple scattered boulders in the middle of the path. Up ahead, the trail turned out of sight to the right. Merrill's clan must have been quite close now; the Spartan could hear them quite clearly now.

"My clan is just around the corner there. I'll go talk to the Keeper," Merrill began, before hesitating for a moment, "maybe it's best if you wait here. You might, um…alarm the others. I'll come back and let you know what the keeper decides." The Spartan nodded in response and with that, the small elvish woman turned and made for her camp, disappearing around the edge of the trail.

He could understand the logic behind having him wait here. From what Merrill had mentioned regarding the destruction of the elven kingdoms, it seemed as if she was implying that humans were the cause of their downfall. Walking straight into their camp might result in hostilities. And no doubt his appearance was quite intimidating as well; he already towered over regular humans, he would probably seem like a giant compared to these elves.

But since the Spartan was forced to wait for Merrill's return, he decided to use the time to check on the wound he sustained from the crash. The medical and first aid systems of his suit scanned the wound and monitored his vital signs; the results of the scans were then broadcast directly into his vision. The effects of the biofoam had diminished significantly, though they _had served_ their intended purpose; infection had been prevented and clotting had begun, but he was still losing blood. If he didn't receive medical attention soon, bacteria and other pathogens could seep into the wound and infect it. Blood loss might also start to damage his functionality. So far, he had lost around half a litre; a relatively low amount, but over time it would only increase.

After another couple minutes, Merrill came back into view, rounding the bluff and followed by three more elves. Immediately, the Spartan's training kicked in and he began analyzing the newcomers. They were of similar stature to Merrill. Two male, one female. One male armed with a sword and plate armour. The other male and the female armed with bows and leather armour. Little threat from the sword-wielder, most likely able to overpower him. Ranged attackers pose greater threat. Eliminate them first, then deal with melee-combatant, should hostilities commence and incapacitation not an option.

All this went through the Spartan's mind in less than a second. It was purely instinctual. Though he was aware that they were not hostile just yet, it was always good to be prepared in the off-chance that their meeting degenerated to violence.

"By the Creators, look at the _size_ of him!" exclaimed the sword-wielding elf.

"That thing is a _shemlen?_" asked the astonished female.

The other bow-wielding male simply gaped and said nothing. The Spartan wasn't bothered by their reactions; he was used to such responses as even the marines occasionally reacted to him in such a manner. Merrill glanced nervously at her companions, before turning to address him.

"The Keeper has agreed to meet you at her aravel," she informed him, "I'll show you the way."

But then the male archer, who had by now regained his composure, stepped forward. "Our task is to watch and escort you, stranger," he said, "cause trouble and you'll end up full of arrows."

"Acknowledged," was the Spartan's impassive reply.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Merrill remarked to the archer, who only glared back at her in response.

Merrill then gestured for the Spartan to follow her as she turned and began walking towards the camp. The Spartan obliged, and he noticed that his escort took up positions around him, with the archers on either side and the swordsman directly behind him.

As the group rounded the bluff, the Spartan saw a pair of banners – decorated with a white design of some sort with twisting horns on a red field – forming the entrance to the camp. As they walked through, the Spartan was finally able to see the camp, which was previously hidden by the sloped rocky ground. The camp consisted of a number of what appeared to be wagons of some sort, arranged in no particular order and scattered around the area. Oddly, they had a triangular sale on top of them. Judging by their size and design, it appeared as if the elves used them for shelter as well as transportation. However, there were only a few such contraptions, and scattered around each were couple tents. Campfires dotted the area, with one usually situated between two wagons that happened to be fairly close together.

Around the campfires were the elves that made up the clan. Some were engaged in food preparation, while others merely attended them for warmth. Situated at a couple of the campfires were musicians, who played some sort of stringed instrument and filled the night air with soft music. The Spartan immediately picked up on the fact that nearly all of the elves had weapons at hand; most had bows, but a few had swords and daggers also.

As the Spartan and his escort passed through the camp, most of the elves stopped what they were doing to gawk at him. Conversations died, children stopped their games, and the musicians' instruments fell silent as the Spartan immediately became the centre of attention of nearly the entire camp. The only sounds that could be heard were the crackling of the fires and the crunching of his boots on the gravelly landscape.

The whole setting was very uncomfortable for the Spartan, considering he was the focus of attention of so many armed individuals. His instincts were practically screaming at him to do something, or to escape their attention. But it would be unrealistic to go around incapacitating everyone, and he needed the medical attention their Keeper offered. So he shoved his instincts aside (no small feat for a Spartan) and continued to follow Merrill.

She made her way to a ring of tents at the edge of the camp, forming a semicircle around a central wagon. There was a lone elderly elven woman seated on a stool in front of the central wagon, staring into the campfire in front of her. Her grey hair was tied back into a bun, and instead of the leather armour and bow or sword equipped by the other elves the Spartan had seen, she wore an elaborate outfit of cloth and furs. The Spartan also noticed a staff, similar in design to Merrill`s, lying within her reach. He assumed she was the Keeper

As the Spartan and his escort drew closer to her campfire, the Keeper rose from her seat and approached the group, while keeping her gaze focused on him.

"Andaran atish'an, stranger. I am Keeper Marethari," she began, "Merrill tells me you protected her from men who would see her harmed, and that you seek healing and answers. Is this not so?" the Keeper asked in a calm, even voice.

"That's correct, ma'am," the Spartan rumbled out in response.

"Then you have my thanks and gratitude. As you have helped one of our own out of the goodness of your heart, I shall gladly return the favour." Marethari signalled them to follow with a gesture and turned and made for the wagon. As she approached, she pulled back a canvas flap, apparently serving as a door or entryway, but didn't enter, instead turning and addressing the three new elves.

"Thank you for escorting the human here. You may leave," she told them. The three each gave a small bow before they turned and left. Keeper Marethari then turned to the Spartan.

"I will see to your wounds inside the aravel. I have already summoned some of the clan's elders to answer your questions, as well as to ask our own. Does this arrangement satisfy you?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the Spartan replied. The Keeper then bade him enter and followed after him.

* * *

><p>During the brief exchange of dialogue between the Spartan and the Keeper, Merrill was silently observing the large human. He was very strange. Most humans that were allowed to enter Dalish camps were always very uncomfortable after seeing all the hunters present, as if they expected to be shot at any moment. But this Spartan Zero Three Nine Dash Two (what a <em>strange<em> name) didn't seem at all intimidated.

He seemed…no he didn't seem like anything actually; his face was expressionless and his tone of voice was hard and cold as stone. In fact, he hadn't shown _any_ emotion since she met him, Merrill realized. The other humans she had met or seen, however briefly, didn't act like the Spartan. Even that Grey Warden she had met (Duncan was his name she thought) who, while reserved, had shown some degree of emotion when he responded to events. But not the Spartan. Weird.

Or was it? She really didn't know many humans, maybe the ones she had met were the odd ones and the Spartan was normal, for his race of course. But then he had said that he "wasn't indicative of the average human." What an awfully strange way to say "I'm different," she thought.

But he had also used another word when he said that. What was it? Physical? No, not that. Psychologi-no not that either. Physiological, that was the word he said. What did that word mean? Maybe it meant he was different from normal humans in different way from behaviour.

But before Merrill could continue her train of thought, the Spartan entered the Keeper's aravel, and the Keeper followed after him. Merrill entered after them as well; as the Keeper's First, her place was by the Keeper's side in such matters.

The interior of the aravel was fairly typical. It was a small space and only contained a few basic items; there were a couple bedrolls laid out on the floor, one with towels over it, and a few chests that Merrill knew contained clothing and food, as well as few other assorted personal items of the Keeper. The space was lit by several candles placed in metal bowls on the floor.

"Would you please remove your armour so I may see your wounds?" the Keeper asked the Spartan, to which he wordlessly nodded in reply.

The first thing he did, Merrill noticed was remove that strange cord from the back of his head. She felt that same strange combination of horror and fascination as she watched a long, sharp-looking metal prong slide out of a little hole or plug in the centre of a small circular metal plate at the base of his skull. At first, she wondered why he would stab himself in the head; wouldn't that hurt a lot? But then she noticed the metal prong _wasn't_ covered in blood or other bodily fluids, as she had predicted. How very strange. The cord then slid into a small compartment in his armour between and above his shoulder blades.

Merrill quickly glanced over to the Keeper. She appeared to be equally fascinated, as she too was observing the Spartan's actions intently.

Next, the Spartan removed the armoured backpack from his back and set it gently on the floor of the aravel .He then began undoing various clasps and seals on his strange armour. Merrill had never seen anything like it before. The shapes of the pieces were radically different from the conventional plate armour some of the Dalish wore, and she couldn't see any straps that held it in place. The first pieces to come off were the ones that covered the forearms, which the Spartan placed gently on the floor. Next came the upper arm and shoulder armour. Once these pieces were removed, the Spartan then went to work on removing the various pieces that covered the chest and back. He didn't bother removing the lower armour pieces, she noticed.

Underneath the armour plating was not chainmail, as Merrill had predicted, but a black bodysuit, made of thick material that looked entirely alien to her. She noticed there was a large gash in the lower abdominal portion of the body suit that was coated in blood, both dried and freshly leaking. The Keeper then handed the man a towel, which he used to wipe away as much of the blood as he could.

He then began undoing some hidden seals near his neck which caused a seam to form that ran down the front of the suit. The Spartan pulled it apart and began extricating his upper body from the suit, sliding it back from his torso and pulling his arms out of the sleeves and attached gloves. The bodysuit must have been a one piece, Merrill realized, as it was still attached to the lower segments of his armour and hung down from his waste. The Spartan then sat cross-legged on the bedroll covered with towels.

She noticed, somewhat uncomfortably, that the man wore nothing underneath the suit. What she saw in front of her now, was a wall of solid muscle. She could make out each individual muscle of his abdomen; they were quite well defined and even at rest they seemed to practically bulge. In fact, Merrill didn't think she had ever seen anyone so muscled and well built. She knew the man was very large, but she didn't know he was _this _well built. She had assumed that a great deal of his bulk came from his armour. And, on a _completely_ unrelated note, it suddenly became very warm in the aravel!

The other thing that both surprised and entranced Merrill was the very large number of scars he had. The pale scar tissue was a stark contrast to his darker skin. Some of the scars were thin and straight and very long, as if he had been slashed by a sword. Others were jagged and relatively short, as if something had actually grabbed a hold of his flesh and ripped it open. Others still were even shorter and quite thick, as if he had been shot or stabbed with something. All of them, however, looked incredibly painful. How much had this man suffered, Merrill wondered. What did he _do_ that earned him so many injuries and wounds?

And at the lower part of his abdomen, before he firmly pressed the towel against the area, Merrill saw a particularly deep looking gash that oozed blood and, strangely enough, small bits of green foamy stuff. The area around it was caked in dried and crusting blood. What surprised Merrill the most was the size of the wound. It looked as if something had partially impaled the Spartan; he should be immobilized and in great pain, not fighting a whole group of slavers on his own. The sheer durability and endurance he must have possessed amazed Merrill.

But while she was gawking at his wound, the Keeper produced another small hand-towel and a bowl of water and began cleaning the area around the wound, removing the crusted and hardened blood. Once satisfied, she placed aside the hand-towel and also removed the towel the Spartan was holding against his wound. The blood immediately began to flow, as well as that strange green foamy stuff.

The Spartan stared intently at the Keeper as she placed an open hand only a few inches from the wound and began her spell. She murmured something and pale bluish-white light began to shine from her palm. Merrill watched as the Spartan's body reacted; the torn flesh could be seen slowly knitting itself back together. The large gash began to close from the edges of the tear as the skin and muscle fused back together, working inwards towards the centre of the wound. The flow of blood began to diminish also, gradually lessening and becoming only a small trickle, before stopping completely. The seam of the torn flesh grew shorter as the wound healed, eventually disappearing as the skin overtop reformed. The light from the Keeper's hand faded. What was left was only small bit of hardening blood; there wasn't even a scar.

But Spartan drew back ever so slightly from the Keeper and tensed up. He stared at the Keeper in a manner that seemed both accusatory and inquisitive.

"How did you do that?" he asked, and for the first time since Merrill met him, she could detect a hint of emotion in his voice. The surprise was just barely present, but it was there nonetheless. Why was he so surprised, Merrill wondered. It's not as if magic was unheard of. Sure, human mages were locked up in their Circles, but people knew of their existence.

"It was only basic healing magic," Merrill answered him, "haven't you seen magic before?"

"No," he bluntly replied, "but I appreciate your aid all the same."

"You are welcome, stranger," the Keeper said "the elders will be arriving shortly to ask and answer questions."

"But how have you not heard of magic before," Merrill inquired, her curiosity getting the better of her, "is magic not practiced where you're from? What do you do with your mages then?"

"There's no such thing as magic where I come from, it exists only in fictional stories," he responded.

But before she could ask another question, the aravel's door-flap was pulled aside and a couple of the clan's elders entered. Merrill recognized them immediately; there was the master craftsman, Master Ilen, and Hahren Paivel, the clan's story teller and historian.

"Andaran atish'an, Keeper," Paivel greeted, before the group bowed in respect, "and greetings to you, stranger," he addressed the Spartan as well before the group took up seating positions on the floor of the wagon, next to the Keeper and Merrill, and across from the Spartan. Ilen merely stared at the large man, in something that Merrill though bordered on, but was just shy of, hostility. Master Ilen had always distrusted foreigners and non-elves.

"These are some of the elders of the clan," the Keeper explained to the Spartan, "this is Master Ilen and Hahren Paivel," she introduced them while gesturing to each elder respectively, "before answering your questions, we will ask you our own."

"Understood," the Spartan replied in his deep, resonant voice.

"Tell us, stranger, who you are, and what race you belong to," the keeper requested.

"I am Spartan zero three nine dash two. I am human," he replied.

"He's a shemlen?" Ilen exclaimed in disbelief, "in all my years, I've never seen a shemlen that looked like that."

"What is a 'shemlen'?" the Spartan asked.

"The word is Elvish for 'human'," Paivel answered him.

"I see. I am not representative of the average human, though," stated the Spartan.

"Indeed," Hahren Paivel replied in a calm fashion. To Merrill, he seemed to be the polar opposite of Master Ilen, who was very…expressive, you could say, and quick to excite.

However, before any of the elders got a chance to speak further, Merrill's curiosity got the better of her.

"But where are you from? How can magic not exist where you're from?" she asked him. She had been very curious about how and why he was unfamiliar with magic. Magic was a fact; whether you lived in the fade, or in the material world, there was magic. How could this strange man _not_ have heard of it? Surely he was mistaken.

But, interestingly enough, he didn't respond immediately; he, instead, gazed at a spot on the floor and his eyes seemed to glaze over, lose their focus. Master Ilen looked as if he was about to ask something further, but closed his mouth and instead waited for the Spartan to speak. After maybe a minute, he looked up again, and met Merrill's gaze directly.

"I believe I'm from another universe," he calmly stated. And Merrill's mind went almost blank then. _What did he just say? _But before he could continue, Master Ilen apparently saw fit to interrupt.

"Is this a joke?" he shouted, "You think this is funny? You demand to see our Keeper, enter our camp like you own the place, and expect us to answer your questions, and then _lie_ and make up stories when we question your identity? How _dare_ you insult us in such a manner?"

The silence that followed his outburst was deafening. Merrill wouldn't dare be the first to break it. Hahren Paivel stared at Master Ilen with one eyebrow raised, as if the master craftsman had just done something incredibly silly. The Keeper stared at him reproachfully. The Spartan himself didn't react to Ilen's outburst, showing no change in his demeanor; his face remained stone, devoid of any expression that might betray his thoughts and feelings.

"Things often are not as they seem, Ilen. Allow the man a chance to explain himself," the Keeper implored him after a moment, "please, continue your story," she bade the Spartan.

"Do you agree that the laws of nature exist independently of location?" the Spartan asked them, "that, for example, you could cast a spell inside this wagon, and also cast it from on top of this mountain?" Merrill nodded, as did Hahren Paivel. Master Ilen and the Keeper merely listened.

"You agree that the laws of nature are indeed _universal_?" the Spartan continued. Merrill nodded once more.

"We understand this," Paivel affirmed, "but how does this explain your origins?"

"You know that the natural laws hold true everywhere then. And yet, magic doesn't exist where I come from. The laws of nature and physics do not permit it; it's simply impossible," the Spartan went on, "for centuries, there has existed among the people of my civilization the speculation that there exist numerous different universes within one multiverse. They have also speculated that these other universes would have different combinations of the laws of physics and nature than ours; there may exist additional laws, or fewer laws, or the same laws with different properties and constants. Thus matter would interact differently and result in different phenomena. This is, to my thinking, the only speculation that adequately explains the existence of magic in this world, and its absence where I come from."

Silence filled the aravel as the elders and Merrill tried to process this information. Merrill had never thought about that before. The thought that there were other entire _universes_ was radically different. But another possibility occurred to her that might counter his argument.

"But how can you be sure magic doesn't exist in your world?" she asked the Spartan, "what if it does and you just don't know about it?"

"Where I'm from, the human species has a galactic population upwards of forty billion. Statistically, the possibility that magic does exist, but hasn't been discovered is practically zero; someone would have discovered some magical principle by now in all our millennia of recorded history." The Spartan replied.

_That_ statement left Merrill completely speechless. Forty _billion?_ How was it even possible that _that_ many people could exist in the world? But if there _were_ that many people in his world, and none had discovered magic, then she supposed it would make sense that it didn't exist.

The Keeper was the first to break the silence; "Do you have any proof of your story, Spartan?" was her simple inquiry.

* * *

><p><strong>The main purpose of this chapter was to introduce the Spartan to the Dalish and to explain the nature of his arrival in the Dragon Age universe. I had intended also for his character to be developed a bit more, but as I mentioned previously, I decided to split this part into two chapters. The Spartan's character as well his and the Dalish's mutual alien-ness (for lack of a better term and yes, I'm aware of my limited vocabulary) will be explored in the next chapter. I hope that I have lived up to your expectations in publishing this chapter and, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated.<strong>

**Also, I'm considering equipping the Spartan with a gun from his universe. Its purpose would mainly be to serve as an active demonstration of the technological power of his universe. That said, its use would be limited so as to avoid the Spartan becoming too powerful (which means that if I DO equip him with a gun, it won't be an assault rifle or shotgun for him to run around and mow everyone down with). But I'm still undecided on the issue, so I'll let you, the reader, decide! I've created a poll on my profile where you can vote and give your opinion. Also, if you decide that I should have the Spartan equipped with a gun, it won't be showing up until Chapter V at the very earliest, mainly because I've already written a good chunk of Chapter IV. Anyways that's all for now, so visit my profile page and vote!**

**Goodbye for now, and happy readings,**

**- Valerianus **


	4. Chapter IV

**Et voici le quatrième cahpitre! And no, relax, it's not in French. I apologize for the long delay between Chapter III and Chapter IV. You can blame midterms for that. Well, I call this Chapter IV, but it's really more like a continuation of Chapter III. Also, I decided to change the title from "Lost" to "Missing in Action" as it seemed more appropriate; I hope this doesn't upset you. But anyways, here it is. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The rights to Halo and Dragon Age are owned by 343 Industries and BioWare respectively. I own nothing except for my original character.**

**Word Count: 4 728 **

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><p>Proof, the Keeper had asked for. Merrill wondered how the Spartan could fulfill the Keeper's request. She thought that his armour and appearance would be sufficient enough. She'd never seen armour like his before. It fastened together so strangely and was of a design that seemed completely foreign to her. And there was also that really peculiar stabbing-himself-in-the-head thing he did with his armour. Merrill had never heard of that before. But apparently those things didn't count, in the Keeper's eyes. So how else could he prove his story, she wondered.<p>

"Would a piece of technology from my universe suffice?" the Spartan asked, "I'm almost certain that this world has no equivalent."

"What kind of technology?" Master Ilen questioned; he was immediately skeptical, Merrill could tell.

"An information-processing device," answered the Spartan.

_A what? What's an information-processing device?_

"You mean like a book?" Merrill inquired.

"No,' was the Spartan's frank reply. And with that, he reached into the armoured bag he had carried with him and pulled out what appeared to be a small metal box. It was small, with the sides not even the length of a dagger, and was made out of a strange dark grey metal, similar to that of the Spartan's armour. He placed the box on the floor next to him and produced a long cord from his bag with pointy metal prongs on either end; they were the same as the metal prong on that cord from his armour, Merrill realized.

"_This_ is your technology? A box?" retorted Ilen.

The Spartan ignored him and pressed something on the box. It started making a very soft whirring noise and a small circle of light appeared at the top of it. What happened next was quite fascinating! Overtop of the box, a picture appeared _that was made entirely out of floating light! _The picture was of a bird of prey of some sort, with its wings stretched out and upwards, and in its talons was a ball. In front of the ball was a banner with the letters "UNSC" on it, and beneath this picture the word "initializing" was displayed.

But the picture and the word were just floating in the air! They weren't even written or imposed _on_ something; they just floated there, made out of nothing but light, as far as Merrill could tell!

But more light started appearing. In front of the box a rectangle of blue light sprang into existence, divided up into rows of squares and rectangles. The floating picture had disappeared and in its place there was a large dark blue floating rectangle that curved slightly towards the group at the ends. It was almost the width of the aravel (which was only maybe six feet) and went most of the way to the roof, about four feet. In the centre of the rectangle were new words: "User ID" followed by a white rectangle and under that, "Password" which was followed by a square with a solid circle in it. Underneath all these was a rectangle containing the word "Enter."

The Spartan touched a finger to the first white rectangle and then started moving his fingers through the rectangular row of squares in front of the box. In the User ID rectangle, the number, "79561-49347-S0392" appeared. He then tapped the box containing the circle, which then changed to a solid square, and started talking, seemingly to his memory-box, in some strange, harsh language that Merrill had never heard before. When he was finished, he tapped the box containing the square.

The "Enter" box flared briefly before everything in the curved window-screen disappeared and was replaced by the word "Welcome…" After a second, that too disappeared and a new screen came up; it had symbols and icons all over it – none of which meant anything to Merrill – and in the background was that UNSC image again.

Hahren Paivel and Master Ilen were dumbstruck. Even the Keeper had a look of wonder on her face, which was quite rare as hardly any sights managed to amaze her anymore.

"What _is_ this device, Spartan?" the Keeper queried, "had I not the talents of a mage, I would say it appears as if it functions through magic."

"This is a computer," he answered her, "we use these to manage information; texts, recordings, images, music and more can be stored in these. We also use them for communication."

Merrill was dumbfounded, to say the least. That the Spartan's people could create such a device that could do all these things, _and _be used to communicate, all without the use of magic was amazing!

"With this, I can show you my memories. Would that constitute sufficient evidence for you?" the Spartan enquired.

"It would," was the Keeper's short reply.

"You can share _memories_ with this?" Merrill asked incredulously, "how?"

"You'll see," was all the Spartan said.

He then picked up the cable he took from the bag and inserted one end into the back of his head, like he had done with his armour. He then slid back a small panel on the box and stuck the other end in there. A second later, new words came up on the display: "New drive detected: Spartan-039-2 Implants. Switch to Neural Interface?" followed by "Yes" and "No". The Spartan tapped "Yes" and immediately the entire display disappeared. It was replaced by a new display of the same size and shape. The row of squares the Spartan was tapping into disappeared as well, replaced by a box containing the words "Manual Holographic Interface"

The new display was quite different from the old one. There was no UNSC picture in the background and the many symbols and icons were gone. Instead, the screen colour was a dark blue and the background consisted of stacked grids of continuously connected hexagons, displayed in such a manner that it resembled a three-dimensional lattice. It sort of reminded Merrill of honeycombs in beehives. The upper left portion of the screen was sectioned off and contained a list of boxes containing words.

"What did you do?" asked Paivel, "what is this 'neural interface'?"

"Now I can control the functions of the computer with my thoughts," the Spartan answered.

As he did so, a box titled "Memories" lit up and the display zoomed in, descending a grid-level. The hexagonal grids on the screen started moving across the screen, almost as if they were being passed over and the screen was searching for something. Merrill also noticed that many of the hexagon cells contained small points of light in them that reminded her stars in the night sky. After a few seconds, the screen's scrolling stopped and focused on one cell that contained a light in it, zooming in and displaying words in the left-hand section of the screen. "Slipspace Anomaly: Arrival at [Thedas], Location Unknown, March 18 2869 CE" the text read.

"Here are some of the recorded memories of the time since my arrival on this world," the Spartan explained, "hopefully this should be sufficient proof of my origins." The hexagonal gridlines and text disappeared as the screen turned black.

When the screen returned to life, it showed a picture of the interior of some metal structure. And the picture _moved_, it was actually _changing_ right in front of Merrill's eyes. The point of view rotated and turned several times and by the edges of the picture, there could occasionally be seen a pair of arms encased in the same strange black armour that the Spartan wore. And they carried some strange metal object.

And there was sound that accompanied the moving image too! Other people's voices could be heard, as well as the sounds of their boots pounding on the metal surface, and loud crashes and booms and other noises that Merrill had never heard before. It was as if Merrill were experiencing another world through someone else's eyes and ears. It was amazing!

The Spartan (For who else's memories could these be?) made his way through the maze-like metal building, passing other smaller humans dressed in equally strange armour and carrying equally strange looking objects, and passed through strange portals where cracks in the metal wall would form and the panels would slide into the adjacent sections of the wall. It was _very_ strange.

Then the Spartan came to rooms and corridors where humans and these outlandish, monstrous…creatures were fighting each other! There were large creatures, much taller than a man that had fur all over them and arms thicker than a man's head. There were short, dark blue-skinned ones with funny-looking tanks on their backs. And there were yet others with long, thin beak-like faces with shields that looked like they were made of flowing energy.

But they weren't fighting each other with swords or bows either. Instead, the strange objects that both humans and creatures carried made loud noises and shot what appeared to be light or energy at each other; short relatively slow green and blue blobs of light from the creatures, and fast yellowy-white streaks of light from the humans' weapons. And the Spartan's weapon made very little noise and shot no light at all, instead his targets convulsed and little tiny holes appeared in their bodies.

Occasionally the Spartan would dash up to his enemies and pummel them to death with his fists or weapons, or sometimes he'd stab them with his knives, or even throw his knives at them. Or sometimes he would even do that strange turning-into-blurry-invisibility thing and kill the creatures undetected. Despite the Spartan's memory-box not being very loud, a torrent of noise still flooded into the aravel; there were screams and howls, battle cries and the shriek of the dying, from both sides, and the constant roar of weapons being fired. Such fiercely brutal combat was entirely alien to Merrill and she had to admit that she felt quite…unnerved.

After a couple minutes of that, the letters "FFW" appeared near the bottom of the screen and everything moved incredibly fast. Then once the screen showed a large empty room with strange object at the end, the FFW disappeared and the motion returned to normal.

The object was very large, many times larger than a person, and seemed to have projections, almost like wings, Merrill thought, coming out of its sides. It had glass windows that sloped up and back at the front (or, at least she thought it was the front) and a sort of tail-like section at the back. The Spartan walked up to it, opened a strange door of some sort, and walked inside to the front part of the object where he could sit in comfy-looking chairs and see out the windows. He pressed some switches and the panels of the interior of the object lit up with different coloured lights! It was really pretty; she had never seen anything like it before.

Then the object that the Spartan was controlling lifted up off of the ground! Merrill could tell because the ground grew farther away when looking out the front window. And then the ground started rotating downwards, like a giant door of some sort.

But what Merrill saw beneath was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. There appeared to be what she could only describe as a giant marble, just floating there. It had patches of blues and greens and browns with streaks and swirls of white and grey all over it. And all around that magnificent marble was the night sky; that enchanting black emptiness dotted with those beautiful specks of starlight!

But then the Spartan manoeuvred the flying machine around and she could see the metal structure he had come out of above him. It seemed to just be floating there, hanging in the night sky. And it was massive! It was incredibly long and wide and had to be bigger than any building Merrill had ever seen. She didn't even know it was possible to build things on such a large scale.

And all around the floating metal building there were little objects flying around and shooting the same types of energy at each other. When they hit each other, sometimes the flying objects would flash brightly and a bubble of light would envelope them, or sometimes nothing would happen, but most often they would explode, turning into magnificent blue or yellow clouds of flame.

And when the Spartan flew his craft near the end of the metal building, the sky in front of him shimmered and warped and a few sparks flew seemingly out of nowhere, and then there was a bright blue flash and a large orb of blackness rimmed by strange blue light appeared! The same strange blue energy snaked across the surface of the empty black orb in lazy tendrils. Merrill then watched as the Spartan flew his vehicle straight _into_ it!

Then the "FFW" came back onto the screen and everything moved really fast. When the letters went away and everything returned to normal speed, she could see the craft leaving the blackness it entered through another one of those strange holes in the sky. But this time, he appeared to be high up in the sky of some world; she could see mountains and bodies of water far below her. In fact, she could make out a body of water that almost looked like the Waking Sea. And those mountains on the coast looked like they could be the Vimmark Mountains. Was the Spartan in Thedas now?

But something must have gone wrong because the Spartan's flying machine was falling and all the lights had gone out. She watched through his eyes as he attempted to get the strange machine working again, pressing various switches and flipping other switches, with the ground drawing ever nearer. Then she watched as the Spartan left the control area and went back into the empty room with seats. He sat in the one furthest from the control area and a short while later, the machine hit the ground; there was a dreadfully loud noise of metal crunching a breaking and she saw the Spartan slam his head into something and the screen go black.

Then "FFW" came back and the screen showed at an exaggerated rate the Spartan regaining consciousness, sorting himself out and then leaving the crashed machine to explore. When the "FFW" went away and the actions on the screen reverted back to normal speed, Merrill could see armoured men in the forest. The Spartan was low to the ground and moving slowly and silently, apparently to avoid detection from them.

She could also make out what the men were saying, even though they were very far away. They mentioned abducting an elf and taking her back to "holding caves" and selling her later. They were slavers then! Merrill had heard that some humans bought and sold slaves and so the concept wasn't foreign to her, but it was still hard to believe that something like the buying and selling of _people_ as if they were objects actually existed!

Then she saw the Spartan do his invisibility trick again and start killing the slavers. She watched as he relieved one of his weapon and started cutting through the slavers with terrifying speed and ease. When they were all dead, he turned towards the clearing and in the Spartan's field of view, Merrill could see _herself! _The Spartan seemed to be angling his head downwards quite a bit. Was she really that small? And she could easily see the fear stenciled on her face, plain as day. She looked so tiny and weak. Is that really how she appeared to others? But it was still very fascinating, to be able to see yourself through the eyes of another person.

The screen froze there and the word "pause" flashed near the bottom. Silence filled the aravel as Merrill and the elders processed what they had just witnessed. In Merrill's mind, there could be no doubt that the Spartan was telling the truth. His memory-box alone was amazing and she knew for certain it wasn't just some elaborate form of magic; she felt no magical power emanating from it, which added even more to her amazement. But to actually experience his memories, to _see_ what he saw, almost as if she were inside his head, confirmed it.

"Is that sufficient proof?" the Spartan asked the elders collectively.

"It is," the Keeper responded. But before she could continue, Merrill decided to interject with a torrent of questions.

"Is that really how wars are fought in your world?" she asked, "and what was that massive metal building? How was it just floating there in the sky? And what was that giant marble? It was very pretty."

"That was not a war," the Spartan replied, "it was a single skirmish; our ship was ambushed and boarded. Our wars involve destruction on a far greater scale than what you saw. The metal structure you saw was one of our warships, a frigate. Our vessels don't cross oceans and seas, they traverse the space between worlds. What you referred to as a giant marble was actually one of our many colony worlds. To put it in terms you would understand, I suppose you could say that the frigate was floating in the space beyond the sky. Does that answer your questions?"

Merrill simply nodded, unable to speak as she processed that information. They were able to travel _beyond_ the sky? And that thing was a _ship?_ But what did he mean by "the space between worlds"? Could there actually be other worlds beyond the sky of their world? And the Spartan's people were able to leave their world and find these other worlds? How was that even possible without magic? They must have been really powerful to accomplish all those feats with only technology!

The other elders seemed equally as shocked and surprised by the Spartan's memories and statements as Merrill. The Keeper still seemed to have her wits about her though as she continued to question the Spartan.

"As…convincing as your evidence is," she began "it still does not explain the reasons behind your presence in Thedas, or what your intentions are."

That seemed to give the Spartan pause as he didn't reply immediately. He was once again silent for a few moments as he lost himself in thought. Several seconds later though, he seemed to come up with an answer.

"My arrival here was accidental, an anomaly," he replied, "but I'm most likely stranded in this world; my only goal is to survive in it."

"How are you 'stranded' here? Why can't you return to where you came from?" Hahren Paivel inquired.

"I doubt very much that the technology that permits us to travel between worlds has been developed here," the Spartan answered, "and even if it has, my arrival here was due to an unknown anomaly which cannot be replicated. I am stuck here."

"And what do you mean by 'surviving'?" asked Master Ilen.

"To be stuck on this world means spending the rest of my life here," the Spartan explained, "I need to know how this world works and how its societies function if I'm to survive."

Merrill was still trying to comprehend everything that this man had shown and explained to her. He came from a completely different _universe_ that was devoid of any magic, from a civilization that controlled _multiple_ worlds and possessed technology the likes of which she'd never even imagined were _possible._ That alone would take a good while to sink in!

But Merrill was also curious about something else. From what the Spartan had described and what he she had seen and heard, his universe was a _vastly_ different place than Thedas. And he was stuck here; he could never go back! What does that feel like to him? How could he be so…_calm_ about it? He didn't even seem the least bit fazed. If anything, he seemed confident, determined. If Merrill were in his place, she'd be terrified!

"Your tale is certainly a fascinating one, Spartan," the Keeper broke the silence, "you may spend the night in our camp while we discuss what you have shown us."

"Thank you, ma'am," replied the Spartan.

"Merrill, please set up a tent for the Spartan and assist him with his needs," she instructed.

"Yes, Keeper," was Merrill's response.

At that point, the Spartan began to gather up his equipment and once again, Merrill watched in fascination. He began by deactivating his memory-box and she watched as the screen disappeared and the various floating lights around the box winked out of existence. The Spartan then removed the cord from his box, which he then replaced in his bag, and pulled the other end out of the back of his head. Merrill was still quite intrigued by it! The idea that his people could interact with their technology using their minds was fascinating. It was almost like blood magic, now that she thought of it. Except, not on people; the controlling-things-with-your-mind part was blood magic-y.

Next, the Spartan began to pull his black bodysuit back over his upper body. Merrill was almost disappointed; his heavily muscled physique was certainly easy on the eyes, but she quickly caught herself. _Stop it Merrill, you shouldn't be thinking like that._

Once covered, the Spartan began reattaching the various pieces of his peculiar black armour. His armour also intrigued Merrill; the plates themselves seemed about as thick as armour plates used by the Dalish when they wore plate mail, but due to the shape and layout of the plates, his armour seemed a lot less bulky. The Spartan's movement in his armour also seemed much less restricted and confined. It was all very interesting.

Once the Spartan had reequipped his armour, Merrill rose and led him out of the aravel.

* * *

><p>Spartan-039-2 silently followed Merrill out of the aravel. She led him away from the semi-circle of aravels and through the Dalish camp. As before, when he first entered the camp, he was on the receiving end of quite a few stares as many of the clan members stopped what they were doing to either gawk at him, or send him hostile glares. Merrill seemed to be oblivious, or else she didn't care.<p>

After less than a minute of walking, they arrived at a tent situated next to an aravel at the edge of the camp, where the ground sloped sharply upwards, becoming nearly vertical. Merrill then turned to the Spartan.

"This is my tent. Is it alright if I set up yours here?" she asked him, seeming slightly nervous.

"That's fine," answered the Spartan.

The small elf then turned to the aravel and began rummaging inside it. The Spartan watched as she dug out the various items that would eventually form the tent; sheets of canvas, rope, stakes, and various wooden poles were brought out.

"Could I help you?" he inquired of her. Apparently that was an unusual thing to ask, as made evident by the look of surprise that Merrill now wore.

"Oh! That's kind of you to offer. Help would be nice," came her response.

The duo then proceeded to set up the Spartan's tent. Merrill got started, and the Spartan assisted her. Occasionally she would give him instructions, but for most of the process he simply mimicked her actions; observing her actions and comparing them to the shape of the other tents he had seen, he had a fairly decent idea of how to build the tent already. It only took a few minutes for them to erect the tent.

"What do the numbers in your name mean?" she suddenly asked him without any warning or foreshadowing, as she turned to face him.

"It means I'm the thirty-ninth soldier of the second generation of soldiers produced by the Spartan-IV program," he answered her.

"Oh. That's a funny name to have. But don't you have an actual name?" she continued. Spartan-039-2 didn't immediately answer her. He _did_ have a normal name, but it was rarely used. To the majority of UNSC military personnel, he was simply Spartan-039-2; the small few who _did_ know his name were a handful of the other Spartans of his generation.

He was reluctant to share his name with her. But as he thought about it, his reluctance slowly began to diminish. He was in a new world, with no chance to go back to his own universe, and even there he had very few close acquaintances with anyone; he was just a number. But here, it really wouldn't make sense to go by his military name; it would hold no meaning in Thedas. It would also probably be a good idea to start developing acquaintances with people if he was to live here for the rest of his life. And perhaps it would be nice to be viewed as an actual person rather than just a piece of equipment, a nameless killing machine.

But Merrill apparently mistook his hesitance for silent offense.

"I'm so sorry! I just said something incredibly rude, didn't I?" she exclaimed, "I didn't mean to-"

"You weren't offensive," the Spartan cut her off, "my name's Aldric."

"Oh. That's a nice name. Can I call you that? Or would that be ill-mannered of me? It's not impolite to call a human by their name, is it?" Merrill inquired.

"You can call me that, it's fine," he replied, a small half-grin forming, partly to reassure her and partly because her particular brand of nervousness was actually a bit amusing, he thought.

"Oh, um, alright. Is there anything else you need?" she asked.

"No, that's all. Thank you, Merrill," Aldric replied.

"Ok. It's pretty late, I think I'll go to bed now," she told Aldric before she turned for her own tent. But before she entered, she turned back, "and, um, thank you so much, again, for saving me from those people earlier," she flashed him a small, uncertain smile before turning in for the night.

It was quite late, and the sun had been down for a couple hours by now. With nothing else he could do today, Aldric decided he might as well turn in too. He crawled into his recently-erected tent, having to crouch down significantly to fit through its entryway, and took off the armoured backpack, setting it next the bedroll. He didn't bother to remove his armour or actually slide himself into the bedroll, instead just lying down directly on it; his armour's bodysuit and its climate-control functions provided enough cushioning and warmth.

_What a strange day_ Aldric thought. Was this all real? Not just some crazy dream? He was actually in a different universe, a universe with magic and mythical creatures, and no way to get back to the UNSC. He was stuck here. Forever! Could that be right? He honestly had not even the faintest idea of what to do. The UNSC didn't exactly have regulations and protocols for this kind of situation. He may not have shown it in front of the clan's elders, but he was quite uncertain. Sure, he'd stated that his long-term goal was to survive, but wasn't everyone's? What about the short-term? _How_ would he go about integrating into this world? But he managed to shove his uncertainties aside. He was a Spartan-IV super-soldier, and change and uncertainty were a part of his life. He would adapt.

Aldric's thoughts then drifted towards Merrill, the small elf woman. Though the term "woman" seemed out of place as her strong natural curiosity gave her an almost child-like air. But he didn't find it annoying at all, quite the opposite in fact; it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn't intimidated by his stature and appearance. Of course, she seemed nervous occasionally, but from what she said and how she behaved, her uncertainty seemed to be born from her inexperience with non-elves rather than him in particular. Even from the little he had seen, she was certainly an interesting individual.

But it was late, and he hadn't got any sleep since before he retrieved that forerunner crystal. _Damn thing._ Sure he'd been unconscious when he crashed, but getting knocked out didn't exactly count as rest. Forcing his mind to calm and silence itself, he allowed the gentle pull of sleep to draw him towards oblivion.

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><p><strong>You may have noticed this already but if not, I based parts of the appearance of the Spartan's computer off of the terminals in Halo 3. Their design was just so unique and interesting! I wish I had a computer like those terminals. Also, I gave the Spartan's neural interface a greater role. In the Halo universe, we're told that all military personnel have neural implants, and that they all act as IFFs, but beyond this there's not much information. So I took some liberties and got creative. I figured that since it's a neural INTERFACE, it would allow the user to interface with computer systems, as well as performing a few other functions.<strong>

**Also, I feel like I should point this out: I'm more or less just making this story up as I go. I have a general idea of where the plot is going, but as for the content of individual chapters, I basically just start with some idea that relates to where I want to take this story then start writing, with the chapter taking form as I go. Perhaps this affects the time it takes to write the chapters. But I'm not sure. Either way, I'm very grateful to those of you who haven't lost patience with me.**

**And, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Your opinions and expectations do influence the writing of this story. And of course, praise is a nice motivation :D But only when it's merited. So my thanks to all of you take the time to leave a review!**

****November 13, 2011, Announcement:  
>Polling has finished! The results were 7 people for the Spartan getting a weapon and 2 against it, the the Spartan will be getting a gun from his universe at some point soon. Since the question Aldric receiving a weapon has been resolves, I've added a new poll to my profile for you to vote on: I've been unable to decide who I want Hawke to be, but I've narrowed it down to two choices, which I'm letting you vote on. Also, no this story isn't dead, I've just been quite busy lately and haven't had much time to work on it at all. But I do have part of the fifth chapter complete and I AM working on it when I have the time. I have far too many ideas for where to take this story to let it die. So I thank all of you for your patience and I hope you understand.<strong>**

**- Valerianus**


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